


lead us not to temptation

by lonelylesbian



Category: Escape the Night (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Holy fuck so much angst, M/M, Self-Sacrifice, also it's set in the 20s, heavy religious themes, i don't think i have anything else to tag but if i've missed something pls lmk, not beta read or proofread we die like matt, so like it's never really brought up but keep in mind that homophobia is rampant, this is literally my manpat fic just a different flavor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27260173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelylesbian/pseuds/lonelylesbian
Summary: I truly, truly don't know how to do summaries so just know Matt is super gay, super repressed, and God is brought up way too much.
Relationships: The Mobster | Timothy DeLaGhetto/The Professor | Matt Haag
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	lead us not to temptation

**Author's Note:**

> So i'm writing this at 2am and i have school in 4 hours but i've been struggling a whole lot with religion lately so this is my way of coping whoops. I sorta lost writing energy at the end so it's a little rushed but whatever
> 
> also just know praying is not required!! i would add this at the end but i don't want to have end notes so

_ Our Father, who art in heaven… _

He walked with his head down, shoulders in. Heels clicking quietly on cobblestone, far too loud in the dark, empty street. 

_ Hallowed be thy name. _

Whispers of white curled from his lips as he exhaled, the snow stinging his lips, chapped and chewed raw. He imagined the breath gathering behind him, creating a swirl of clouds.  _ Clouds in my lungs.  _ He recalled a painting he had always loved, God’s hand descending from the clouds,  _ God's hand arising from my lips…  _ He shook his head and pulled his jacket tighter around himself.  _ Wouldn't that be something. _

_ Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven. _

He passed under a streetlamp, the golden light illuminating his face as if he were an angel. He wanted to reach up, grasp at the light, let it flood him, melt on his tongue, tasting like heaven, burning like God’s touch. 

He kept walking.

_ Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive our debts, as we forgive our debtors. _

The night’s silence allowed for far too many thoughts, he decided. Too many voices determined to fill the void, they send out little invites, pretty gold lettering,  _ You are cordially invited to a soirée,  _ black ties and pearls, cigarettes and wine, sitting around a little glass table chatting amiably about vignettes and desires and dreams that drifted away like the smoke from their pipes. They gather, crying,  _ let us eat! Drink!  _

They have no shame.

_ And lead us not to temptation, but deliver us from evil… _

And as silence brings voices, darkness brings visions. His mistake, projected onto the backs of his eyelids,  _ a film reel, a man’s body. _ He walked faster, faster,  _ God save me…  _

_ …for thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever; _

Matt Haag pushed the doors to the church open as quietly as possible, slipping into the back row as the prayer finished.

_ Amen. _

_ ————————— _

“ _ Amen _ !” Cried Sierra, sobbing as she held the demon woman down. Matt had never seen an angel cry before.

He grabbed the holy water, pouring it over the thrashing woman.  _ She’s filled with evil, just like me.  _ Matt felt a sudden pang of sympathy for this poor woman. She had done nothing to deserve the devil in her. Not like he had.

He shook the thought of his head.  _ Focus.  _ He took the rosary, and followed the small instructions on the paper. He wrestled the rosary onto Sierra, and she gasped, choked,  _ this isn't right this isn’t right this _

“Sierra?” He shook her, again and again,  _ Sierra wake up, Sierra please wake up, God, I’m begging you, wake her up, please… _

The poor man took the paper again, and read it, over and over,  _ Place the rosary on Sierra, killing her, or on yourself, saving her but killing you, I did it wrong, I did it wrong, I killed her, I killed her, I killed her I killed her Lele was right I am detestable I’m a murderer she was right they were all right _

“Sierra, I’m so sorry…” Matt sank to the floor. He knew only only one thing to do. So he got on his knees, clasped his hands, and prayed for the angel he had killed.

_ ————————— _

Matt wasn't sure why Tim didn't hate him. He deserved it, after all. He had killed the girl he had sworn to protect, sworn to keep alive,  _ I would be a shit guardian angel, I can't even keep one girl alive. _

But Tim. Tim never hated him, never directed his white-hot anger at Matt, the flames acting as a blanket instead. And fuck, Matt had never loved being burned this much.

—————————

God must be angry at him. He must be, for there is no other way he could be tortured by pure fate. No, God must be pulling strings above him. watching him dance from sorrow to sorrow. 

Maybe this is his punishment, forced again and again to kill those that he loved. 

_ I will not kill Tim. _ Matt’s fists clenched.  _ I will not. _

And it was at this moment he knew he would die.

He and Tim made their way upstairs, walking towards the tortured man’s death. They drank deeply, one last toast, letting the rich wine spill down their throat. Matt couldn't even care when he found out it was poison.

Matt didn't even open his book, simply watching Tim flit around like a bird, like Icarus. But Tim, he would escape. He would not fall, not burn. Matt would make sure.

He felt a tear slip down his face as he slammed his book down on the table.

“What are you doing? How are you done already?” Tim sounded confused, not masking his panic well.

Matt turned to face his love, a wretched smile on his face. “I can't do this anymore.”

“What?”

Matt slowly walked towards Tim, and gently brought his hands, calloused and weathered, up to the shorter man’s cheeks. 

“I love you.” said Matt, bringing his face to Tim’s until their foreheads were touching. He could feel the other man’s breath against his lips, a gentle reminder of the sin that filled him, filled them.

“I love you too.” Tim slowly brought his lips to Matt’s, a tear escaping his eyes, falling down to their mouths, tasting the salt on their tongues.

And Matt no longer quite cared where he went after death, for once in his life felt apathy over his fate in hell. He simply revelled in the heaven he had.

But of course, poor Matt’s story does not end here. You know that, we all do, and he did too. And so the man broke away from his lover’s touch, and smiled at him as he drank his vial of poison. 

And he died, quietly, but not alone. Look at him, rising, bathed in golden light. Look at him, waiting for his lover, hoping he will wait for years and years.  _ Look at him. _

And that is the end of the story.

—————

Dear reader, do not be sad for him. Do not think he lived a tragedy. Do not cry for him. Don't you see? He  _ lived! _ And even after life, he lives on in our words!  So instead of crying for him, raise your head to the sky, and pray for Matt Haag.


End file.
